


Exsanguination

by tequila2077



Series: Mojave Blues [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, boone is unconcious the whole time, courier doesnt know how to deal with liking someone, its basically self-indulgent drama dont @ me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22284838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tequila2077/pseuds/tequila2077
Summary: The Courier has a heart-to-heart with a man in a hospital bed.
Relationships: Craig Boone/Female Courier
Series: Mojave Blues [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604098
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Exsanguination

They'd given him a quiet corner in the medical tent, covered with a screen and a moth eaten sheet of something that might have once been a blanket or a tablecloth. The chaos that the day brought lulled with the dusk, soldiers who had filled the tent earlier were either patched up or put down, and the few other people they shared a tent with were in a medicated haze, just like Boone was. Coyote slumped over a chair with the back pressed towards her stomach so she could rest her elbows. Her feet dragged backwards, one ankle knocking rhythmically on a rusted metal leg.

She'd been like this since she'd dragged him in, having Dr Richards operate under her disinterested gaze. Saying nothing and not bothering to make eye contact as she handed over her entire supply of Med-x, Superstims and the two bottles of Buffout that she kept hidden in the deepest part of her bag. When they started patching Boone up Dr Richards offered the usual platitudes, more out of habit than compassion, but her blank expression didn't change to worry or relief, so he stopped bothering. He worked, stemming bleeding, removing shrapnel, in complete silence save for two times when he asked her to hand her a scalpel and then a spool of steel thread for stitching. Both times the items were dropped in his hand without ceremony or complaint. The calloused wasteland fingers trembling so slightly anyone less sure of themselves might think they'd imagined it.

An hour and a half of work and the patient was stitched up, stable, and doped with the largest amount Med-X he could comfortably risk. Wiping the blood off his hands, Dr Richards turned to the Courier. "He should be fine from here. I've done all I can but if something happens, come find me my tent". He gets a noncommittal grunt before pulling back the canvas shroud and stepping out into the cold Mojave night air. Then it's just the two of them. Boone's exposed chest rises and falls as reliably as it always has, despite the raw, red gashes on the sides. The stitching catches the lamplight with every breath, a small flash of light that pulls her eyes towards the wounds.

Before she can stop herself her hand has reached out to catch a drop of blood that runs down from the biggest cut, rubbing the slick fluid between her fingers. Its nothing she hasn't seen before, and yet under the flicker shadow of the dim firelight the deep red takes on a new, more disturbing sheen. She doesn't like how looking at it makes her feel, so the she wipes it down on the threadbare issued blanket before pulling it over to cover his chest.

"You look a lot happier when you're doped up, Boone." Her voice is an unwelcome rasp that comes too loud, but Coyote can't stand the graveyard quiet of the tent any longer. And she's right, the man's scowl is softened, his face smoothed by a sleep deeper than sleep. Like this, she can actually believe he's twenty-six.

"You took a couple of hard knocks back at Nelson but th'doc fixed you up real nice. Didn't charge us neither on account of the hostages we freed." One of them was lying passed out in the bed next to her, in fact. "I told that piss-belly ranger he owes me double the caps for getting 'em out alive, n'half of that is yours cos I know you've been wanting to replace your scope. Uh..."

Her voice dies in her throat, suddenly paranoid about the way it fills the room. Instead she scoots the chair closer, until shes right next to his head. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted, so she folds her arms tight against her ribs instead. "You took that spear pretty hard, but I knew you'd be right cos y'always are." She fiddles with the star cap on her necklace. "I know neither both of us ain't much for talkin', but the doc said he pumped you with with enough Med-x to put a deathclaw on it's ass, so you can't hear me anyway." The words come out in a stuttering, staggering pace. "You actually, uh, had me a little worried there for a sec, when you passed out on me. 'Think I've killed my last legionary', you drama queen. Think I threw my back out dragging you up here."

The pause is longer this time. It swells and bulges until she feels the pregnant weight of it on her shoulders. Then it splits open and out comes the deluge. "I made all sorts of promises. I asked ev'ry spirit I knew of to make sure you didn't die. I didn't yell at the officers. The doc left his supply box open but I ain't taken nothin' from it cos I know you wouldn't like it an' I made sure to clear out every legionary an' I haven't even had a smoke while I've been in here even though I need one real bad an'..." Something in her voice threatens to crack, she swallows it down. "And none of this matters anyway cos no matter how many legionaries I kill or how many time I go to the ass-end of the Mojave to do some job NCR is too pussy to do, its not gonna make you think about her any less. I'm not Carla and I never will be, but it's the stupidest-the stupidest fucking thing about it is while they were stitchin' you up I was thinking that maybe I could try. I could grow my hair out like in them posters and bathe more an' use a knife and fork. Christ, I was even thinkin' of putting on a dress. Can you imagine the fucking sight a'that? I woulda looked so goddamn stupid."

A burst of laughter from outside the tent makes her jump. The troops are celebrating with whatever drinks they can get their hands on and its starting to kick in. Obviously they aren't banking on a Legion counterattack tonight.

Stupid. Typical NCR move.

She leans in as close as she dares, her voice low and husky, like boots on gravel. "And what scar-what spooked me the most is I woulda done it. I woulda been miserable for th'rest of my life if I coulda seen you smile at me like you did at Bitter Springs. It's fuckin crazy. I've put people in Golgotha for being have as stupid. But here I am pourin' my guts out like some kinda sap." She lets out a short, sad laugh. "Maybe it's the brain damage..."

The revelry outside has faded to a dull murmur, a muddy cacophony of voices not quite loud enough to make out the words. If she had to guess, everyone's moved up to the command tent to keep warm.

"I ain't ever met anyone like you, y'know? You didn't even ask for caps. If we were in New Reno you woulda put a .308 in the back of my head the first time I nagged you about your wife." His face is right there and she wants to badly to reach out for it. To know what it felt like to touch him beyond pushes into the dirt in firefights and clutching at the shoulders to administer stimpaks.

"I'm not gonna be here when you wake up, Boone. M'gonna write you note so you don't freak out, and then I'm gonna leave. Got a big tip about some place called the Madre. When I get back I'll be fixed and it'll be like this talk never happened." She rises from the chair and groans as her muscles adjust to moving again. Turns to leave, but circles back. Digs in her pocket and fishes out a 1st Recon Beret - the spare. She drops it on the bedside table and leaves to find a pen and paper.

He wakes up two and a half days later. When the fog in his head clears enough for him to notice the folded crimson he picks it up and the note comes with it, fluttering into his lap.

_Boone_

_gone ~~to the m~~ out syde the mojave _

_see you when i see you_

_-C_

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on my phone from the hours of 1-3 am when I was gripped by a need for angst. I'd love any critique but it's only a small drabble, nothing substantial.


End file.
